The Sounds We Make When No One's Listening
by The-Cursed-Daughter
Summary: The sequel to The Names We Call Ourselves. Enjoy.


_Okay, because people (VIOLET) are buggering me to make a sequel, here you fucking go. Enjoy. _

Um, Kit, ANN-OUN-CEMENTS!!

_Oh, right. We have created another email our parents know nothing about, to which PM will **ALWAYS BE ENABLED**, unless there's like an emergency, so feel free to leave plot bunnies (you especially, agentwhite), and stuff like that! _

You guys are going to like this sequel-thingy...it's really good.

_Shut up. Anyway, I'm trying to type Choice as much as I can, but I've been kinda busy so be patient. AND REVIEW, DAMNIT!_

_**Warnings: Angst**_

**_Disclaimers: We_ (Kit)_ own_(s)_ nothing but the plot._ **

* * *

_Bang._

Hellboy was strong; powerful. He slammed his left fist into the wall, watching the metal dent and crack, jarring pain shooting through his arm. The demon looked down at his hand; the knuckles were cracked and aching; blood dripping onto the ground. He pulled back and hit the wall again, letting all his anger and frustration seep into the metal.

_Bang._

Anger at himself, for not caring enough—not being _human_ enough—to realize that he was hurting John, and frustration at not being able to keep the agent from leaving. Gritting his teeth, Hellboy punched the wall again.

_Bang._

_Bang!_

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Hellboy's door creaked open. He turned around to face Clay, hiding his bleeding hand behind his back. The agent stood by the door, hesitant. "Are you okay, Hellboy?" The demon nodded, and Clay disappeared back outside.

Hellboy grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped his bloody hand up. Hellboy was strong; but he wasn't strong enough.

* * *

_Ta-ta-ta-tum. _

John was practical; he knew what was good for him. He sat at the office desk, drumming his fingers on the wood. As each finger hit the desk, he thought, _1, 2, 3, 4. Hellboy, Abe, Liz, me._ He tried drumming only three fingers. It didn't work; didn't sound right.

_Ta-ta-ta-tum._

John stared blankly out the window, letting himself be distracted by the sound of his fingers hitting the desk. He has a good job now, an accountant at a large firm. The pay was great, he had a nice apartment downtown, and—

_Ta-ta-ta-tum._

_Ta-ta-ta-tum._

_Ta-ta-ta-SLAM!_

John slammed his hand on the desk, ignoring the sting. Who was he fooling? He missed them; Liz, Abe, the BPRD, _Hellboy_. He missed them, wanted to go back to badly it _hurt_. But he couldn't. Just...couldn't.

_Ta-ta-ta-tum._

A stout, African-American woman stuck her head in his office. "Meyers? You got those papers?" John snapped out of his daze and shook his head. The woman glared at him. "Well, get moving. Those reports aren't going to write themselves. And stop making that goddamn noise."

The ex-agent sighed and placed his hands back onto the keyboard, beginning to type. John knew what was good for him, yet he refused to do it.

* * *

_Tap._

Liz was fast; she caught on to thoughts and ideas quickly. She liked to finish what she started and start new, harder things to challenge herself. Learning to control her fire was one of those challenges. The fire-starter sat in the briefing room, tapping her foot on the linoleum, Hellboy to her left, Abe to her right. Manning stood up front, droning on, but Liz's eyes kept turning to the empty seat across the table. The one he should have been sitting in.

_Tap._

Liz used to complain that time was passing by too fast, things were speeding by faster than she was would have liked. Childhood, vacations, her and Hellboy's relationship, but now, time had never been slower. It had been a month, they had waited, hoped, prayed, but he wasn't there. John wasn't coming back.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Manning glared at her from across the table as he stood, dismissing them. As she Hellboy and Abe walked down the hall to the garage, the fire-starter walked ahead of them. She walked twice as fast to compensate for the second pair of footsteps that should have been there, but weren't.

Liz was fast, but this time, she just wasn't fast enough.

* * *

_Shwap._

Abe was smart, tactful. The icthyo-sapien absently pressed his webbed hand to the glass of his tank, vaguely hearing the sound it made as he pulled them off. He had always prided himself in being able to sense others feelings, even without his psychic powers. Hellboy especially, he wore his feelings on his sleeves—though most of those feelings were anger, confusion, sarcasm and laziness. Hellboy was easy.

_Shwap. _

Abe sighed. That was just it; Hellboy _was_ easy, but not anymore. The demon barely spoke, spending most of his time in his room, from which banging sounds constantly emanated.

_Shwap. _

_Shwap._

Abe ripped his hand off of the glass again. His hands, the source of his power; the power that _wasn't strong enough_. The fish-man was a thinker, a ponderer. And night after night, as days stretched to weeks and weeks stretched into a month and counting, Abe had asked himself, _how did I not sense it, how could I not see?_ But he already knew the answer. John was an FBI agent, he was trained to hide was he was feeling so that he wouldn't burden the mission. Abe sighed; that was exactly what John would do, he was the only one of their team that wasn't a _freak_, that didn't have powers, of course he though that he was just extra weight.

Abraham Sapien was prized for and prided himself with his hands, but this one time, one person had been so careful that Abe couldn't sense it. The one time Abe wasn't smart enough.

* * *

Read and review, it would make Kit's day again!

_It's 10:32 pm, genius._

Oh...right. REVIEW ANYWAY!!

_Kit &_ Violet


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